


I Am Worthless to One (But Priceless to Two)

by FirebirdRising



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, two psychopaths finally sit down and talk about their differences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirebirdRising/pseuds/FirebirdRising
Summary: Villains don't get happy endings. Oswald Cobblepot just might.OR: The Penguin and The Riddler finally sit themselves down and talk out their differences.





	I Am Worthless to One (But Priceless to Two)

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been playing around with in my mind for awhile, as it seems like these two just need to sit down and have a good old fashioned chat. Hope you all like it!
> 
> I do not own Gotham.

The Iceberg Lounge, now over a decade old under Oswald Cobblepot, was the headquarters of some of the strangest individuals Gotham had to offer. Patrons would come in at all hours of the night- friend and foe, familiar and stranger- and witness the… diversity… that was the Gotham underworld. 

It wasn’t always like this, of course. The streets used to be filled with those allegiant to Carmine Falcone and Don Maroney. Ordinary thieves and murderers who still had a code. 

Now, the villains had become more creative. The Joker, Poison Ivy, Catwoman… 

And, of course, The Penguin.

On this particular night, said birdlike man was pouring over an assortment of documents, his brow pinched and a glass of wine clutched in his hand. Through the floor, he could feel the bass of the music, could practically see the dancing, hear the  _ plotting _ . 

Normally, Oswald Cobblepot would join them. It was his duty, being the king of the mobs, to know what exactly was going down and when. Tonight, his heart was simply not in it. His leg was aching with the promise of snow come morning, and then…

_ “Stop thinking about it, Oswald,”  _ he mentally scolded. 

That had been the routine of today, of the past  _ month _ : throw himself into work, run his city, and don’t  _ think.  _

_ Don’t think about Ed.  _

The sound of The Riddler’s name running across his psyche was enough for Oswald to scream. Enough for him to throw the lamp on his desk across the room. 

The guards outside yelled something, only to be silenced. This was not Oswald’s first tantrum, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be his last. 

Sighing, the Penguin sat back down in his chair, his leg stretched out in front of him. He gazed angrily at the shattered remains of the ornate lamp in the corner. He would have to get the maid to clean that up before his meetings tomorrow. 

_ Meetings tomorrow,  _ he reminded himself, settling back into work. He’d almost forgotten. He was to meet with Victor about his new weapon, with Ivy about her poisoned-

**_BANG!_ **

Agunshot, clear as day and twice as deadly, rang through the hallway outside his door. He sighed, rolled his eyes as he pulled his own pistol from the desk drawer. 

**BANG!**

There went the second guard. Showtime. 

Oswald pointed his gun at the door, his aim level with what would be the average height of a man, to shoot him right between the eyes. The door handle turned, turned, turned…

It opened to reveal no one. 

“Show yourself,” Oswald ordered. He wasn’t in the mood for games tonight, not with Ed being released from Arkham in a matter of hours. 

There was a slow laugh from the hallway. 

Oswald took a step from behind his desk, ignoring the pain in his leg. “I’m going to count to three. One… two…”

A step in the hallway. Another. The tap of a cane against the floorboards. 

_ Oh, for the love of… _

The man, clad in his signature green suit, hair slicked back to perfection, his smile brimming with mischief, stepped into the doorframe. “Miss me?”

Another yell from The Penguin. A bookshelf fell at The Riddler’s feet. 

Ed Nygma had the nerve to laugh at that. His eyes had never left Oswald’s. He was determined. He was here to stay, at least until he got what he wanted. 

Oswald resigned himself to his fate. “Ed.”

Riddler nodded. “Oswald.”

There was a silence then, a silence where the two men stared. They had changed significantly in the past ten years: Ed’s hair grey as the Gotham sky, his smile a bit more crooked. 

Oswald himself had changed, as much as he’d hated to admit. He’d gained weight, grown into a king. His leg was getting worse every day, and his eye… Well, his monocle was helping. 

(He pushes back the memories of Ed, bending over him during Jeremiah’s no man’s land, his long fingers caressing the side of his head as he looks at his damaged face.)

Another beat. Riddler breaks eye contact to examine Oswald’s office: the ornate features that had followed him since his time as mayor. “Let’s just get down to it.” 

Okay, then. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be released  _ tomorrow?”  _

Ed shrugged, pulled his suit jacket more tightly around him. Oswald noticed, for the first time, that blood stained his undershirt. Typical Ed. 

“Arkham hasn’t changed, incase you were wondering.”   
  


Oswald nodded. He was all too familiar with the four walls of an Arkham cell. Hell, they all were at this point, with that Batman flying around. “How’s Ecco? Jonathon?”

“Well,” Ed assured him, and then, without warning, took a step toward the Penguin. His eyes had gone wild, his body rigid. “I am harmless but can kill you. What am I?”

Oswald didn’t blink. “Time.”

The Riddler nodded. His feet seemed to start moving without permission, allowing him to start pacing the floor like a madman. “I’ve had time to think, Oswald.”

Here they go again. The same old dance they’d always perform: trust, love, betray. One day, Oswald promised himself, he wouldn’t start the cycle over again. “About?”

“Remember the night at the Siren’s, when Butch Gilzean strangled me?”

A lump settled in Oswald’s throat. How could he forget? He’d just lost his mother, his father.... And he almost lost the best friend he’d ever had. His best friend, who would betray him over and over again. He swallowed the lump. 

A twisted smile from the Penguin. “Of course,  _ Ed. _ ”

He hoped The Riddler knew if this was anyone else, they’d be in a pool of their own blood on the floor. The nerve of this man, pulling his heart strings in…

“I would do anything for you, Oswald,” Ed’s voiced cracked as he reached out, reached out only for Penguin to yank his hand away. 

“No you wouldn’t. You lied.”

A beat. 

“I would now.” 

Oswald’s heart full-on  _ stopped.  _ How does one respond to  _ that? _ His sworn enemy, who used to be his friend, his occasional lover, had just said he’d do anything for you. 

And by the fates, Oswald still  _ loves  _ him. 

The Penguin him so much you brought him back to life all those years ago, that you fought by his side, shared a blissful kiss with him under Jeremiah’s rule. 

He loves him so much that he constantly allowed The Riddler…  _ Ed _ … whoever the hell came in that night, back into his life. Oswald had tried- he really had- to replace Ed. To forget about him. But as Ivy told him about his occasional flings, “ _ That one is smart. That other one was tall. This one looks good in green. See a pattern here?”  _

(Then there was Cat, who would snicker in the background of the conversation. “ _ You’re the villain of the story, Oswald, if you haven’t figured that out.”  _ She would take a deep drink of whatever concoction she had crafted for her. “ _ Villains don’t  _ get  _ happy endings.”) _

The world had seemed to stop turning as Oswald mused, the bass of the music below ghosting away. 

And then, he got a feeling- a feeling akin to freedom itself, and he  _ reached.  _

Ed shuddered as their hands made contact. They both wore gloves: red and purple, death and pain. Still, they could feel each other’s warmth seeping through the leather. 

“I trust you, Ed.” 

And then, The Riddler, or Ed Nygma, or whoever the hell was in control at the moment, smiled, and the planet was lit with light. The night was incinerated. The freaking universe stopped in its tracks. 

Cat could saunter around his club all she wanted, and he would listen to her spouting her words of wisdom. Still, Oswald would catalog them in his brain as  _ wrong.  _

Because standing here, with Ed’s hand in his own, the taller man’s smile blotting out the sun, he was complete. 

Complete didn’t mean happy. Complete could be temporary. But “complete” did not know whether he was a hero, or a villain, or the line in between. 

This wasn’t a happy ending- no, Oswald Cobblepot didn't deserve that. 

But this was pretty damn close. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Leave a review and tell me what you think <3


End file.
